


No Light

by lipservice (thescariestadverbs)



Category: The Killing
Genre: Case, Dating, Death, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescariestadverbs/pseuds/lipservice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holder and Linden stumble into a relationship while working on another case - set one year after season 3</p><p>Completed!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_you are the hole in my head_   
_you are the space in my bed_   
_you are the silence in between what I thought_   
_and what I said_

_you are the night time fear_  
 _you are the morning when it's clear_  
 _when it's over you'll start_  
 _you're my head_  
 _you're my heart_  
Florence + the Machine - No Light, No Light

 

**Sarah**

It’s 3:42 in the morning when her phone rings. She hadn’t been sleeping anyway, she’d been sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, waiting for the dawn to break. She’d given up on a good night’s sleep a long time ago. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to sleep, or didn’t care to sleep, but after years of seeing what she’s seen.. some nights, it’s just better not to close your eyes. 

There is only a handful of people that would call her in the middle of the night. She slowly puts her cigarette down on the ashtray and reaches across the table for it. She flips the phone open and checks the caller-ID, _Holder_ , before she presses the green TALK button, “Linden.”

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, Linden,” he drawls, “but we got a case.” 

She’s already reaching for her jacket while he rolls off the details. She grabs her keys and runs out into the rain. She leaves the kitchen light on and the cigarette burning in the ashtray, “don’t touch anything until I get there,” she says as she slams the car door. 

“When you gonna learn you ain’t my boss?” he’s mocking her of course, “I thought we were partners,” he laughs. 

“You heard me,” she can’t help but smile at his laugh, “don’t touch anything until I get there.” She snaps the phone shut and tucks it into her pocket. She whips the car out of the driveway and speeds towards the city. 

The address he gave her is in a middle class residential neighborhood. It’s easy to spot the house when she sees the lights and the crowd. People who never spoke to each other stand, huddled in a mass, hoping for a glimpse of what gruesome horror laid inside the house.

It’s a little after 4:30 when she pulls up. He’s waiting for her. Standing in front of all the police cruisers holding an umbrella. There’s a cigarette hanging out of the right side of his mouth. She pulls up beside him and he opens her door, “took you long enough,” he holds the umbrella over the door as she gets out. 

“What have we got?” She reaches into her pocket for a pair of plastic gloves. 

“I’ve told you all I know,” he shrugs, “I waited.” 

**Stephen**

The first thing he notices when they step into the house is the smell. You can get used to the sight, you can separate it. You can compartmentalize the memories. But the smell... He swallows a gag and follows Linden into the master bedroom.

It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. The woman still looks... human. More or less. She’s tied down to the mattress and there’s blood everywhere. It’s on the walls, the dresser, the floor. It’s on the mattress, the windows. She looks like she had been pretty, really pretty, before someone took a meat tenderizer to the side of her head. 

Linden’s walking around the room. She’s got that look on her face, the one she gets when she’s working a case. She has a sixth sense when it comes to their job and it’s obvious from the way she’s tilted her head and the way she’s looking around that something isn’t right. 

She picks up a picture frame, and puts it back down. She runs her finger along the blinds, pulling them down and peering out at the flashing lights. She crouches by the bed and starts to examine the woman. 

“Just going to stand there?” she doesn’t look up as she turns the woman’s hand over to look at it.

He steps into the room and picks up a wedding picture, “husband?” he asks as he puts it back down. 

“Maybe,” she’s moved onto the other hand, “wedding ring’s here.” 

He opens the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out a jewelry box, it’s not full but it’s not empty either. He dumps the box out on top of the dresser, “there’s some nice bling in here,” he holds up a pair of earrings so she can see them. 

“Detective?” someone calls from the living room, “Detective, the husband is here.” 

He glances at his partner. She stands up and they both snap off their gloves. He lets her lead the way. The husband is standing, leaning casually against the fireplace. He barely glances at them when they step into the room. 

“He doesn’t look so broken up,” he hisses quietly so only she can hear. 

“Sir, can we ask you a few questions about your wife?” it always amazes him how she holds her ground. The husband has at least a foot and a half and a good hundred pounds on her but she doesn’t waiver, “sir?” 

“My wife,” the husband declares, “was a whore.” 

“Where were you tonight?” she asks. 

“What’s it to you?” the man reaches out to push her back.

Before he’s even really touched her Holder has him by the lapels. He might be thin, but he’s strong and he’s strong enough to shove the man against the wall, “you touch her, I’ll kill you myself,” he seethes. He stares straight into the man’s eyes , daring him to try that move again.

The man shakes his head and Holder lets go, “answer the question,” he says. 

“I wasn’t here,” he says, defiantly. 

“Keep it up,” Holder threatens, “we can do this downtown.” 

The man shrugs, “I answered your question. I wasn’t here.” 

Linden gestures to a uniformed officer beside her, “is that blood on his hands?” the officer grabs the man roughly and starts to cuff him. “C’mon,” she says, “we need to finish upstairs so the corner can take her.” She heads back down the hallway. He waits though, and watches the officer drag the husband out of the house. 

**Sarah**

It’s late in the afternoon before they finish with the scene. Holder follows her out to her car, “can I catch a ride?” he asks. She hadn’t noticed his car wasn’t there when she pulled up. In all the commotion she hadn’t noticed much. When she arrived the street had been full of commotion, all the people and the cruisers. Now, almost twelve hours later, it’s like a ghost town. 

He slides into the passenger seat and lights a cigarette before she can answer. “I’m hungry,” he says as she climbs in, “stop at Taco Bell.”

She hadn’t felt hungry but she had to admit she felt better after eating. It’s almost dinnertime when they finally pull into the precinct and head inside. “You should talk to him first,” she says, as they stare into the interrogation room.

“No one’s talking to anyone,” a voice says from behind them. It’s a short, plump man with glasses and an awkward toupee, “Miles Myers,” he reaches out to shake their hands, “I request a meeting with my client before you interrogate him.” 

She’s not impressed. Lawyers have never impressed her. More than anything, they irritate her. They’re in the way. She gives the man a once over before turning on her heel and heading towards her office. 

She can hear Holder as she walks away, “here’s my cell number,” he’s saying, “call us when you are done.”

She’s sitting in her chair, tense and impatient, when he walks in, “he says we can’t talk to his client until tomorrow.” 

“Since when do lawyers get to call the shots?” 

Holder shrugs, “they’re waiting for another lawyer or something. We can’t do anything until his other lawyer’s here.”

“Fuck,” she pulls out a cigarette and starts playing with it. 

“It’s gonna be at least a few hours before the evidence is processed and the pictures are ready,” he grabs a ball off her desk and tosses it back and forth in his hands. 

“What’s your point?” she snaps. 

He puts the ball down and smiles lightly, “let’s get out of here. We can’t do anything until tomorrow. So let’s go.”

She looks at him like he has two heads, “go where?”

“Look, Linden. I know you don’t like to walk away in the middle of somethin’ but I’m tellin’ you there’s nothing we can do here tonight. Let’s go rent a movie or something. We can chill at my crib. We’ll be close when they call.” 

“A movie?” she repeats, raising her eyebrows, “you do realize we just started an investigation?” 

“I’m tellin’ you, there’s nothing we can do right now. They’ll call when the evidence is ready for us. We don’t even know his name. It’s all going to take time,” he’s smiling at her like someone would smile at a small child, like he’s trying to placate her or calm her down.

“A movie?” she says again, “and they’ll call? What about the conversation with his lawyer? We should be listening.”

“No dice. They had that room locked. Confidentially or some shit,” he walks over to the door, “c’mon, it’s not going to hurt, I promise.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Stephen**

He hadn’t actually expected her to come with him. He just couldn’t sit there and wait. Processing’s so slow at night and the thought of sitting there, watching the seconds tick by on the clock was unbearable. 

Originally he’d told her to pick a movie but after half an hour of her staring at the same page on the guide and flipping her phone open every other second he’d taken the remote away. He puts on the first movie on the list and sits down beside her. 

Neither of them is really watching the movie. She’s still staring at her phone and he’s staring at her. She’s thinking about the case, he can almost see her walking through every step of the day. She’s searching for something, something they may have missed. Something they may have overlooked. 

“We should search his car,” she says, opening her phone for the seventeen millionth time.

“Called in for a warrant around lunch time,” he says, “nothin’ until we have some evidence.” 

She’s frustrated, “we need to talk to him.” Her phone beeps and they both jump, ready. She shakes her head and holds it up, “low battery,” she laughs a little. She’s still tense, he can see her itching to get started. The worst part about being a cop is all the fucking red tape.

He takes her phone over to the counter and plugs it in. He rummages in the cupboard for something to eat. “I made you some chips,” he says, clunking the bowl down onto the table in front of them.

“You made them?” she asks skeptically, “you opened a bag and dumped them in a bowl.” 

“I have many talents,” he leans back, “what’s this movie about, anyway?” 

She settles beside him. She’s fidgeting with her hands and she keeps grabbing at her pocket like she’s looking for her phone but it’s not there. He hands her a cigarette and she visibly relaxes. It’s enough to keep her hands busy, for a little while anyway. “I have no idea,” she says when she exhales. 

He’s trying not to notice how close her shoulder is to his. He’s trying to focus on the movie and not think about Linden. It’s proving harder than it sounds. The credits role and he exhales. She stands up, stretches, and checks her phone. Nothing. She walks back to the couch and drops into it. She reaches across him for the remote and he breathes her in. 

He barely notices she’s put on another movie, he’s too busy trying to slow his heart down. She leans back into the couch and her shoulder bumps his. He swallows and lights a cigarette. He stares at the TV and wills himself to focus. 

**Sarah**

It’s after midnight when she hears her phone go off. She sits up, dazed and disoriented and it takes her a minute to remember where she is. She’d fallen asleep on Holder’s couch. There’s a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and he’s sleeping beside her. She blinks, realizing he’d been curled up to her while they slept.

The phone’s shrill ring sounds out again and she stumbles into the kitchen, “Linden,” she mumbles as she turns on the light.

“Your evidence is ready,” someone says to her, “when did you want to pick it up?” Holder is sitting up and looking around the room. He yawns and stretches out. “Detective?” the man on the phone says, “when did you want to pick it up?”

She looks away quickly when she realizes she’d been staring, “we’ll be there in half an hour,” she says, snapping her phone shut. She slips it in her pocket. 

He stands up when she walks into the living room for her jacket. He brushes past her, close enough she can feel the warmth of his body, and heads into the bathroom. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until she hears the water turn on. 

It’s an uneventful night, they pick up the evidence and start pinning up the pictures. They walk through the evidence step by step, hoping for something to stand out. 

The lawyers call them to the interrogation room around 10. “I’m going to lay this out for you,” plump Mr. Myers says, “you assaulted my client,” he points to Holder, “and you had him arrested saying he had blood on his hands and he didn’t,” he points to Linden. 

“That sounds like a wrongful arrest to us,” the other lawyer says. 

“Your client is a suspect in the murder of his wife,” Linden says coolly, “we have to ask him some questions.” She holds up her hand, signally Holder to stay quiet. He grumbles and eyes the suspect. “As of right now, your client has no alibi and refuses to tell us his whereabouts the night his wife was killed.”  
After an hour of questioning, most shut down by the lawyers, Holder pulls Linden out into the hallway, “we got nothin’.” he says, “all we got is his name.” 

“Go run it,” she says, “I’ll keep talking to him. Maybe he’ll tell us something. We can only hold him for another 15 hours before we have to either charge him or let him go.” 

“Look atchu, Linden,” he reaches out and squeezes her hand, “workin’ by the book on this one.” 

She squeezes back before abruptly pulling her hand away. She can see the suspect - Dale - watching them through the window, “good luck,” she says before she heads back into the room. Holder watches her for a minute, she doesn’t need to look to know he’s watching, and heads in the opposite direction towards his office. 

“What’s going on with you and your partner?” the suspect asks as soon as she sits down. 

“That’s none of your business,” she says tightly, “now, where were you the night your wife was killed?”

**Stephen**

There’s enough on the rap sheet to get a warrant for the car. He stands in the back of the warehouse as they pull the car in. He tries not to think about it but every time they search a car he’s sick to his stomach. Every time they pop a trunk he has to turn away.

There isn’t much in the car, no bloody weapons or dirty footprints. It’s cleaner than his house. The trunk’s pretty much the same. They go over it thoroughly. One of the techs reaches in and pulls up the bottom of the trunk. 

They hadn’t expected the case to wrap up quickly, he’d learned to never expect a case to wrap up quickly. The proverbial smoking gun in this case was a bag full of bloody clothes hiding where the spare tire should be. 

He chokes back the vomit rising in his throat, “call Linden,” he chokes out. He doesn’t hear the tech’s response. His head is spinning and he barely makes it outside before he throws up all over the sidewalk. 

It had been a year since Bullet’s death, and some days were easier. Some days he woke up and knew he had a job to do, and he was doing it for her. Other days he hears the sound of a trunk opening and he wants to slink back into the darkness. He’s itching for a fix. It’s funny to him how he can stay clean for so many years and just the sound of a trunk opening can send him spiraling back.   
**Sarah**

He’s been drinking, she can tell when she walks into the apartment. The blinds are drawn and she finds him sitting on the floor in the kitchen. There’s a cut on his hand and he’s watching it bleed out. She grabs a towel off the counter, “what are you doing?”

“Sittin’,” he says, “whateryoudoin’?” 

She’d hadn’t thought much of why he hadn’t been the one to call her about the clothes. It would take a couple of days to process the blood of them, it was enough to hold Dale for a few more days. She hadn’t thought of Holder until she realized he didn’t come back with the clothes. The tech had shrugged and said something about him taking off after they opened the trunk.

And it dawned on her. And she ran to his apartment like she was on fire. 

She slides down the wall and sits beside him, still holding his hand, “it’s not your fault,” she says softly, “it’s not.” 

“So what if it’s not?” he looks over at her, eyes wide and wild and lucid, “doesn’t change anything.” 

She pulls back the towel to look at it, the cut isn’t bad. It isn’t bleeding anymore. She wraps it back up, “I’m sorry,” she says. 

He shakes his head back and forth widely, “s’notyerfault,” he slurs and reaches for the bottle beside him. He takes a swig and hands it to her, “is it enough?” 

“They took the clothes to the lab to compare samples from the victim, we should know in a couple of days for sure,” she reaches out tentatively and puts her hand on his arm, “we’re holding him until then for sure.”

“Good,” he mumbles and struggles to his feet, “Ishuldgotobed.”

She stands up and follows him, reaching out to steady him as he stumbles. He lays down on his back and tries to kick his shoes off. It takes him a few moments but they come off and hit the floor like bricks. She pulls the blanket up around him. 

She turns to go when she feels his hand grab her wrist, “Sarah,” he says. He’s never called her Sarah before, she turns around and he looks up at her, “stay,” he whispers and pulls her down onto the bed.


	3. Chapter Three

**Stephen**

He wouldn’t call it a perfect sleep, or even a good sleep. He wakes with the sun. He has to blink a few times before he decides that keeping his eyes closed is better. His head feels heavy and it’s throbbing, his mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. He rolls over to face away from the window and he’s surprised to find a warm body laying beside him. 

The night comes back in bits. He remembers the trunk and coming home. He vaguely remembers Linden showing up and pulling her into the bed. He cracks his eye open slowly, letting it adjust to the light before he looks at her. She’s sound asleep, snoring softly. Her hair has come loose and it’s splayed across the pillow. He reaches out hesitantly and wraps his arm around her waist. She stirs but doesn’t wake. He rests his head on her chest, just above her heart, and lets it lull him back to sleep. 

The second time he wakes, a few hours later, his head is pounding but better. He opens his eyes cautiously. He’s alone in the room. He struggles to a sitting position and reaches in his nightstand for the Advil he keeps there. He pulls himself out of the bed and everything but crawls his way into the shower. 

The water does nothing to soothe his rampaging headache but he’s able to walk out of the bathroom. He feels around on the floor for a pair of jeans that look clean enough and he shrugs on an undershirt before padding, barefoot, into the kitchen. 

She’s sitting on the couch. The case is open in front of her and she’s eating a bagel. She doesn’t glance up, “you have no food,” she says. He can’t help but notice the second cup of coffee beside her.

“I have food,” he retorts, slumping down beside her.

“Chips, half a bag of peanuts and moldy bottle of ketchup isn’t food,” she turns the page over and hands him a cup of coffee and a bagel. 

He puts the bagel down with distain, “I have rice too,” he says, “why you readin’ that again?” he gestures towards the file. Had he been more on his game he would have maybe mentioned her love of vending machine food but it was taking everything out of him to sit up and to not throw up.

She shrugs, “how’s your head?” She pops the last of her bagel into her mouth and leans back beside him. 

“Awesome,” he takes another sip of his coffee, willing the Advil to kick in, “what time is it?”

She shrugs again, “After 9. We should head in soon.”

**Sarah**

She’s pretty confident that their suspect is the killer but she insists that they learn as much as they can about the victim. They’ve been wrong before, and they have a few days before the blood test will come back. 

She’s standing at the door with her keys, urging Holder to hurry up, when he comes out of the bedroom. He’s wearing his signature gray hoodie and a pair of giant sunglasses. She tries not to laugh when she says, “nice glasses.”

He smirks, “Gucci.” 

She spends the day dragging him around to different places, starting with where their victim, Valerie, worked. They visited her parents, her best friend. They returned to the crime scene and spoke with some of the neighbors. Everywhere they go, no matter who they talk to, signs keep pointing to the husband.

By dinner time his mood has improved and he’s not wincing every time she closes the car door. “I’m hungry,” he announces as she pulls out of the crime scene driveway. 

“What do you want?” 

He ponders it for a moment, “pizza,” he says definitively. 

They go back and forth about where to stop and ultimately decide to head back to the precinct and order one in. Half pineapple, half pepperoni. She’s leaning over the desk, chewing on a pen and reading over her notes when he walks back into the room with it.

He tosses it on the desk, “dinner is served.” He grabs a piece and slouches in his seat.

“It’s too simple,” she says, distracted, “it’s too easy.” 

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it,” he points out, reaching for a second piece. 

She hmms and flips through the case file again. He reaches over and grabs her notes from the day and reads through them. He adds to them before handing them back, trading them for the case file. 

Something about the case feels like it’s missing but after hours of trading paper back and forth nothing new has surfaced. Holder is chewing on a pizza crust and holding a photograph sideways but his conclusions are the same as hers, if they’ve missed something it’s because it’s not there. He puts down the picture and looks at her carefully. 

“I don’t do sleepovers,” she says so quickly all the words mush together and it comes out awkwardly. There’s no secrets between them, there never has been. She glances at him before standing up and walking over to the window. It’s raining again. She takes a deep breath and tries again, “I don’t do sleepovers. Every guy I’ve been with, it’s always been at my house. I don’t sleepover.” She’s itching for a cigarette. She watches as the sky rumbles and the rain comes down. 

**Stephen**

The confession takes him by surprise. He watches her at the window for a minute, gauging her mood and weighing responses, “you inviting me over?” he asks lightly. He stands up and takes a step towards her. 

She looks at him, briefly, before looking outside again, “I don’t mind dropping you off.” She sounds shaky and confused. She’s twisting a cigarette in her hand. 

He comes up behind her, close enough so she can feel him but he’s not quite touching her. He hears her inhale sharply. She presses her empty hand to the glass, trying to steady herself. He leans over so his lips are right next to her ear, “Linden,” he whispers in a sing-song tone, “I asked you a question” he drops his tone, “you inviting me over?” he inches forward just enough so he’s pressed against her back.

He can hear the gears grinding in her head. It feels like an hour but it’s maybe only a minute before she softens into him. He kisses her temple, savoring the smell of her hair and the feel of her close to him. He reaches out and grabs her hand off of the window and turns her around so she’s facing him. 

It’s a moment he’s pictured over and over, she’s looking up at him like she’s seeing him for the first time. Her eyes are wide, curious, with just a little bit of fear. He pushes her up against the window, “I told you you already had your chance,” he smirks. She laughs, and a bit of the tension diffuses. He leans in, hovering his lips just above hers, “I told you I wasn’t gonna try and kiss you again.” 

He can almost taste her. He’s waiting, teasing her. He’s staring at her lips, soft and pink, and he’s thinking about all the ways he’s pictured this. “You tryin’ to make a liar out of me, Linden?” he laughs. 

**Sarah**

It isn’t stars or lightening. The moment his lips touch hers it’s almost peace. He’s not holding her in place, he’s not rough. He’s just there, kissing her like it’s everything. His hands run down her arms, barely skimming her sweater, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

When he finally pulls back he’s looking at her, dark and serious. He’s standing so close, too close. He’s breathing heavily and watching her so intently it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She opens her mouth to say something - what she has no idea - when a voice calls out from the door, “Holder, there’s someone here to see you.”

She stiffens and jumps back a little while he just turns around nonchalantly and eyes the officer at the door, “I’m busy,” he says.

“It’s about your case. Some woman is here. She said she wanted to see you and not your ‘waif of a partner’, whatever that means. What are you guys doing over there?”

Holder glances back at her and she nods, urging him to go. The case is a priority, the case is always priority. He puts his hand on her shoulder, “I’ll be back,” before he turns and follows the other officer out of the office. 

“What were you guys doing?” she hears the other officer ask again.

“Karate,” Holder drawls,"you need a lesson?"

She doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Once they are out of her sight she breathes out low and slow. She walks over to the desk, grabs a piece of cold pizza and the case files. She can’t concentrate, though. There are too many emotions bubbling just under the surface and she has to put the papers down. 

She’s still sitting there, playing with her pizza, an hour later when he returns. 

“Lady across the street saw a van pulling out of the driveway a couple hours before we showed up. Said it was yellow and had some bird on the side,” he sits down and reaches for a pad. 

“Did she get a license plate?” she asks, putting her pizza down. 

He shakes his head, “no dice. I got the guys running a search through the DMV but they’re backed up. They’ll call when they have a list.” 

She’s reaching for her coat, “let’s take a drive downtown,” she says as she tosses him her keys.


	4. Chapter Four

_would you leave me,_  
 _if I told you what I've done?_  
 _and would you need me,_  
 _if I told you what I've become?_  
 _'cause it's so easy,_  
 _to say it to a crowd_  
 _but it's so hard, my love,_  
 _to say it to you out loud_  
Florence + the Machine - No Light, No Light

**Stephen**

He circles the block for the third time and she’s staring out the window. He isn’t sure what she had hoped to find in the middle of the night but they’re coming up empty. “One more time,” she says and he obliges. 

He’s trying not to watch her as they drive. He likes the way she looks when she’s concentrating and serious. The way her eyes dart around as she takes everything in. He’s doing everything he can to focus on the road and not think about how soft her lips are or how sweet they taste. 

He looks out his window and almost jumps out of his seat when his phone rings. She reaches over and grabs it, “Linden.”

He listens to her side of the conversation, “yes, no. What time tomorrow? Yes. I want a cruiser waiting there with the warrant tomorrow,” she snaps the phone shut, “van belongs to a plumbing company. They’re closed until 10 tomorrow morning.”

“You’re gettin’ cocky, Linden. Answering my phone,” he smirks. 

“You shouldn’t talk on your phone and drive,” she says, pulling out a cigarette. She hands it to him and pulls out another. 

“Where to?” he reaches over and takes the lighter from her. 

She looks around the car nervously, “home,” she says softly. 

They don’t talk as they head out of the city. For once, he’s not really sure what to say to her. Everything he thinks of dies on his tongue. He opens his mouth a couple of times but shuts it before she notices. 

It’s not like he’s never stayed there before. After they solved the Pied Piper case, and Bullet had died, he had spent almost two months on her couch. She wasn’t what he would call motherly but she’d taken care of him in her own way. She’d simply sat beside him. She’d bought cigarettes and beer and she’d listened.

And when she thought he’d spent enough time feeling sorry for himself she’d gathered him up and kicked him out. 

She had a knack for knowing what he needed, and she’d been right. He’d be lying if he said Bullet’s death hadn’t affected him. Hell, last night was proof enough that it had. For a sixteen year old she’d been wiser than her years, and she’d taught him a few things. She’d just been a kid, a kid who never fit in until she found herself on the street, and she’d died protecting the things she cared about.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about her everyday. 

He pulls up next to Linden’s house and turns the engine off. They sit in silence, he’s looking at his hands and she’s looking out the window. 

**Sarah**

It’s been awhile since she invited a man to her house like this. Sure, it’s Holder, and she trusts him, but it’s awkward. The silence in the car is getting tense and her cigarette is running out. She’d never been good at talking. Most of her relationships had been primarily physical, they hadn’t been with someone she knew so well. Someone who knew her so well.

She’d been faking with Cody and with Rick. Pretending to be something she’s not. In retrospect there’s no surprise she’s ended up here, without them, and with Holder. There’s only so long you can pretend before the truth shines through. 

“You didn’t tell me we were gonna be sleepin’ in the car, Linden,” he smiles at her, a little too wide, trying to break the tension. 

She smiles tightly and looks around. She exhales the breath she’s been holding since they turned towards her house, “alright,” she says, pulling on the door handle, “let’s go.” 

He reaches out and touches her arm, “what are you so scared of, Linden?” he’s looking her straight in the eye.

She shakes her head, breaking the contact, “nothing,” and she climbs out of the car. 

“Bullshit,” he says as he follows her. He reaches out and pulls her arm, spinning her around to face him. He throws his cigarette on the ground, “is this what you’re so scared of?” he puts both hands on her cheeks and pulls her in. It’s nothing like the kiss in the precinct. There’s nothing tender or gentle about it. It’s not peaceful.

She can feel his lips on hers, hot and demanding. She’s holding onto the front of his jacket like she’s scared if she lets go he’ll stop kissing her. His hands slide down from her cheeks, onto her shoulders, down her arms and around her waist. He pulls her to him and she wraps her arms around his neck, tangling them in his hair. She’s barely conscious of the crack of thunder above them. 

He pulls back, breathing heavy, watching her for a moment before he kisses her again. He slides his hands down to her thighs and picks her up, holding her against him. She holds onto his arms, feeling the muscles beneath them and she wraps her legs around his waist and lets him carry her inside. 

**Stephen**

He sets her down on the kitchen table and pushes her coat off of her shoulders. She’s tugging at his jacket and his sweater and she’s kissing him back with an intensity he didn’t expect. He breaks the kiss to pull his sweater over his head. He wants to ask if she’s sure but before he can say anything she’s got him by the belt loops and she’s pulling him back in. 

He slides his hands under her sweater, teasing along the hem of her jeans and feeling the cool skin of her back. It’s softer than he imagined. He’s struggling to slow himself down, he wants to take his time, he wants to remember every moment.

It’s her turn to pull back, her lips are swollen and she’s panting. His throat feels raw and his skin is on fire. She’s so beautiful he doesn’t even know where to start. When he finds his voice it’s hoarse, “Linden -” he starts. She slides forward, pushing him back, and slips off of the table. She reaches for his hand and guides him up the stairs. He takes a deep breath and follows her into the bedroom. 

He’s never considered himself a patient lover but there is something different with Linden. He finds himself moving softly, tentatively, testing his boundaries. He likes to watch her face while he makes love to her, watch her body writhe underneath him. He likes the way her skin tastes and her hair looks, splayed out across the bed. He loves the way her hands feel as they run through his hair and across his back. 

He’s laying on his side after, tracing his finger along her collarbone, “what’s this?” he asks, brushing her hair off her shoulder to reveal a small scar. 

“It’s nothing, just a scar,” she says. She rolls over to face him, and runs a light hand along his cheek. She leans in to kiss him, pushing him onto his back and laying with her head on his chest. He unconsciously strokes her hair and closes his eyes. He lets the soft sound of her breathing drift him off to sleep. 

**Sarah**

She wakes up early, she always wakes up early. She’s up before the sun and the birds. There’s something about the world before dawn breaks. It’s quiet, untouched. She starts to roll out of Holder’s grasp but he pulls her tighter. 

She smiles and waits for him to settle before she slips out of the bed. She winces, checking to make sure he’s still asleep. She reaches for her leggings and heads into the bathroom. It takes her longer than usual to get ready. Partly because her hair is a total mess and partly because she’s moving a little slower. She finds herself just standing in the bathroom smiling and she has no idea how long she’s been there. 

She peeks her head in the bedroom before she heads downstairs. Holder is still laying on his back, snoring softly. The blanket is hovering teasingly just below his navel. She has to stop herself from crawling back in bed and waking him up. 

It takes her a full fifteen minutes to find her coat in the kitchen. She pulls it on and heads out into the cool Seattle morning. She doesn’t run as fast or as far as usual. For the first time in over a year she feels like she’s running simply because she loves to run. She pauses to enjoy the scenery. She runs a little faster on the way home, eager to get there. 

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon when she walks in the front door. He’s standing in her kitchen in a pair of boxers, leaning against the counter. He’s drinking coffee from her only mug. He smiles when he sees her, “morning, Linden.”

“Morning,” she says back. She reaches in the fridge for a bottle of water and wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. She’s breathing hard from her run and from the sight of him standing, shirtless, in her kitchen. 

She climbs the stairs two at a time, shedding her coat onto the bed. She kicks her running shoes off into the corner. She pulls her shirt up, but stops when she sees him standing in the bedroom doorway. “Don’t stop on my account,” he winks, stepping into the room. 

“I need to have a shower,” she says breathlessly. 

He puts the mug down on the dresser and tugs her shirt over her head, “that makes two of us.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Stephen**

“We’re late,” she says for the upteenth time, watching him scramble around the kitchen.

He ignores her for a moment, looking under the table, “where’s my sweater?” he asks, moving a chair. 

“I don’t know,” she chuckles and he glares at her, “I have one of your shirts upstairs, I think.” 

His head snaps up, “you stealin’ my clothes, Linden?” 

She shrugs, “you forgot it when you were staying here,” she turns and heads up the stairs. She pushes some sweaters around in the closet. 

He can tell she’s pretending she doesn’t know exactly where it is. He leans against the door jamb and watches her. She narrows in on a white dress shirt and tie and pulls them out. He doesn’t have time to argue, just slides his arms into the shirt and starts to button it. 

“You missed one,” she says, reaching out. It’s a little awkward having someone else button his shirt. She focuses intently, undoing half of the buttons until she gets to the one he missed. She slowly pops the button through before she slides her hands down the front of his shirt. 

“Keep that up,” he all but growls, low and dangerous, “we’re gonna be more than late.” 

She looks up and kisses him playfully before slipping out of his grasp. He stares after her for a second, willing the blood to return to... well anywhere but where it currently was going. He buttons all but the last two buttons and pulls the tie over his head, leaving it loose. He fumbles in his pocket for a cigarette, letting it hang from his bottom lip. 

He grabs his jacket off the floor and heads out. She’s already waiting for him in the car. He climbs into the passenger seat and she tosses the case file in his lap. He opens it up and starts flipping through it while she drives. 

She’s all business when they arrive at the building. It’s impressive to him how easily she compartmentalizes him. Had he not been there he would have had no idea they’d spent the night together. She barely looks at him when they get out of the car, just says, “I’ll grab the warrant and meet you inside.” 

He flips up his collar, throws his cigarette on the ground and heads into the office. It’s no more than a warehouse with three vans parked inside and a desk in the corner where a woman is seated, filing her nails. He walks over and slides a picture down in front of her, “you recognize this woman?”

She barely glances at it, “nope.” 

He leans over the desk, “look again, senorita,” he pushes the picture forward. 

She stops filing her nails and she snaps her gum loudly. She looks at the picture for a moment and says, “why, what happened to her?” 

He stands up straight, “you got a boss?” he looks around. 

“What’s it to you?” 

Linden steps up beside him and holds up her badge, “Seattle police, we have a warrant to search your vans. We’ll need to speak with you and your boss.” 

The woman sits up, “he’s on a job,” she says. She puts the nail file down carefully, reaching for the phone.

Linden hands the warrant to her. Another officer walks up behind them and stands beside the woman while she squawks on the phone to her boss. 

He walks over to the first van and opens the back door. It’s sparkling clean inside. He gestures for one of the crime scene guys, “check it for blood,” he says, moving onto the next van. All three are the same, recently scrubbed to perfection. 

“What’s your name?” he hears Linden ask the woman. 

“Myra,” the woman says. 

“Why are the vans so clean?” he asks as he walks over to stand beside Linden. 

Myra snaps her gum again, “good business practice,” she says snidely and reaches for the nail file again, “my boss will be back soon.” 

“We need to see your job list for the day before yesterday,” Linden says patiently. 

“That on your warrant too?” Myra eyes Linden suspiciously. 

“What the hell is going on here?” a man calls out from the doorway, “what are you people doing?” 

“Seattle PD,” Linden says, “did you work a job on Wall Street two days ago?” 

“Sunday?” he asks, running his hand through his hair, “we’re closed on Sundays. I lent one of the vans to my brother.” 

“What’s his name? Which van?” Holder asks, he’s watching Linden out of the corner of his eye as she walks around the warehouse. 

“Dale Walker,” the man says, “I don’t know which one it was.”

“Holder,” she calls from the corner of the room. She stands up as he comes up behind her and points. Two bloody shoes had been inside a box, tucked in the corner. She snaps on her gloves, “you think these will match the clothes?”

“Good chance,” he says, “our suspect is the one who borrowed the van.” 

**Sarah**

Their suspect still isn’t talking, not that he really needed to at this point. All they needed was the blood confirmation and her job was done. She’s sitting in their office watching Holder pace back and forth.

She tries not to smile, enjoying the way he looks in his shirt and tie. It's not like she doesn’t like the way he looks in his hoodie, it suits him, but the shirt and tie gave him an air of authority. Respect. And the shirt shows off his body in a way that hoodie never could. He rolls up his sleeves and grabs a cigarette. It’s hanging out of his mouth in a way that must have been designed to drive her crazy. 

Their afternoon bleeds into the evening, which in turn bleeds into the early night. It’s full of paperwork and patience. Holder’s leaning back in his chair, swirling it back and forth. She reaches for her jacket, “do you want wait here all night?” she asks, pulling her keys from her pocket. 

“You know what I’d rather be doin’, Linden?” he winks.

“It’s Wednesday,” she points out and glances up at the clock, “and it’s 7:30.” 

She sees his face visibly fall but he grabs his coat, “you mind dropping me off?” 

She nods and waits for him before they head down the hallway together. She’s careful to share his silence on the way. She doesn’t push him on it, she never has. It had been his choice to go back to his AA meetings and she’d been supportive every step of the way.

He hadn’t relapsed since that day on the pier, as far as she knew anyway, but he’d been close after Bullet. She could see it in his eyes. In the way he'd let his whole life fall apart. The way he'd spent eight long weeks, laying on her couch. At first she’d put up with him, lazing around the house. Drinking, feeling sorry for himself. After two months with no improvement her patience had worn thin. She’d reached her breaking point when he’d broken his hand punching her wall. 

She had decided she was done enabling him. She kicked him out of her house and told him not to come back until he had himself together. She told him she could barely keep herself together and it wasn’t her job to support him and it wasn’t her job to watch him kill himself.

He’d come back to her in a week. He didn’t apologize, and she hadn’t expected him too. He’d just showed up on a Thursday morning with coffee. She hadn’t realized he started going to the meetings again until the following week. 

They get into the car and she pulls onto the busy street. She doesn’t say anything, he wouldn’t want her to. She reaches over, though, and takes his hand in hers. She gives it a reassuring squeeze and heads towards the elementary school where the meeting is held. 

“Should I wait?” she asks, pulling out a cigarette. 

“Yea, it’ll be quick,” he leans across the seat and kisses her, hard, before plucking the cigarette out of her hand and tucking it behind his ear, “you mind?” 

She blushes and shakes her head.

“Thanks, baby,” he kisses her on the forehead and slips out the door. 

She pulls out another cigarette and lights it. She watches him climb the stairs and disappear inside the double doors. She leans back in her seat, smiling, She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and she flips it open, “Linden,” she says, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“The lab called, it’s the same blood type. That’s the best they can do,” it’s their boss, “I called the DA. We’ve got the go ahead to arrest him. Where are you guys?”

“Just getting something to eat,” she says, “we can be there in half an hour.”

She texts Holder to let him know and within a few minutes he’s walking towards her. He’s loosened his tie even more and he’s smiling. 

"We got him?" he asks, reaching for his seat belt.

"Yeah," she smiles back, "we did."

She lets him do the arrest. She’s sitting in their office beginning the mountain of post-case paperwork when he walks in with their boss. “Good work,” he says, “once you’re done with the file you can both take the rest of the week off.” 

“What?” Holder looks at her his expression a mix of surprise and excitement. 

“I’ll see you both Monday,” he says before walking out of the room. 

Holder slips into the chair across from her and reaches across, taking a chunk of paper from her, “we better get started,” he says, “you got a pen?”


	6. Chapter Six

_you want a revelation,_  
 _you wanna get it right_  
 _but, it's a conversation,_  
 _I just can't have tonight_  
 _you want a revelation, some kind of resolution_  
 _tell me what you want me to say_  
Florence + the Machine - No Light, No Light

**Stephen**

She could barely keep her eyes open by the time they were finished. He reaches over and grabs her keys off the desk, “I’ll drive,” he says, “I gotta stop at home anyway.” He opens the passenger door for her and by the time he’s sliding the key into the ignition she’s asleep, soundlessly, with her head pressed against the window. 

He pulls up in front of his building, finishes his cigarette and steps out into the crisp, cool air of the morning. He carries her up the stairs and into the apartment, laying her on the bed. She doesn’t even stir when he pulls her shoes and her socks off. It’s not easy but he works her out of her clothes and into one of his ragged, worn t-shirts. 

He climbs in beside her and watches her sleep for a few minutes. He’s antsy, restless.

He should be tired but he can’t seem to keep his eyes closed. He reaches over onto the nightstand and grabs a book. 

He reads for an hour before she rolls over and blinks tiredly at him, “where are we?” she asks, looking around.

“My place,” he turns the page and looks over at her, “you fell asleep in the car.”

“Oh,” she frowns, “I should go home.” 

He puts the book down on his lap, “we can head over there later.” 

She shakes her head, she’s blinking and he can tell she’s still processing, “Jack,” she says, “Jack’s coming tomorrow.”

“That’s cool,” he shrugs, “I haven’t seen little man in a while.” 

“I don’t know,” she says, sitting up beside him, “if you should stay when he’s here.” He glances over at her with surprise. “It’s just,” she looks down at her hands, “he likes you. And he trusts you.” 

“And you think that’ll change if I’m bangin’ his mom?” he doesn’t mean to snap, but he’s tired and on edge all of a sudden. 

She snaps her head up and flings the blanket off, “so that what this is?” she asks, reaching for her clothes. 

He stands up and walks over to her, “you tell me, Sarah,” he says forcefully, “you runnin’ away on me? I should have expected it. You’re a runner. You’ve always been a runner.” 

She doesn’t say anything as she tugs on her jeans and starts digging around for her shoes and her coats. He follows her into the living room and watches her. She’s throwing things around in the kitchen, “where’s my keys?” she says as she moves his mail around, “where’s my keys?” 

“You got this wrong, Linden,” he says as he reaches down and grabs the keys off the coffee table, “you’re so scared of what this really is, of what this could be. You think hiding this and running away is the answer.”

“Give me my keys,” she says. She’s shaking and he can see the tears filling her eyes. 

He looks down at them and shakes them in his hand, “you keep runnin’, Linden, and one day no one’s gonna try and catch you,” he tosses them to her. 

She catches them in one hand and turns towards the door. 

“You got this wrong,” he says again, “you’re missing it.” 

She stops, hand on the knob, “missing what?” she says without turning around. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says hoarsely, “always have been. You keep running away any time something real comes your way and you’ll keep missing it.” 

**Sarah**

She doesn’t breathe out until she gets to the car, until she’s sure he hasn’t followed. Her throat feels raw and scratchy and she can feel the tears streaming down her face. She starts breathing hard, panicky, and has to rest her head on the steering wheel for a minute. 

She glances up, her whole body is heaving with her sobs and she looks at his window. It’s empty. She wipes her eyes and puts the car in drive. She slowly turns out onto the street, and she drives home. 

The house feels big and empty when she gets there but she tries to ignore it. She drops her jacket on the floor, kicks her shoes into the kitchen. She begrudgingly climbs the stairs and heads straight for the bathroom, leaving a pile of clothing in her wake.

She’s sitting on the floor in the shower, letting the hot water drown out her sobs. She stays like that long after the water runs cold. She’s shivering and her lips have gone blue when she finally pulls herself out of the shower. 

She looks between her running gear and her bed for a few minutes before she heads down into the kitchen and turns on the coffee pot. She’s strong, she tells herself, she doesn’t need him and she can take care of herself. She’s been doing it her whole life. 

She sees his sweater on the other side of the kitchen, tucked up against the stove. She picks it up gingerly, and looks at it for a moment before pulling it over her head. It’s way too big for her but it’s soft and worn, it smells like cigarettes and Holder. She switches the coffee maker off and turns back towards the stairs. 

She climbs into her bed, pulls the covers over her head and she falls into a dreamless sleep. 

**Stephen**

While Linden sleeps he’s doing everything but. He’s chain smoking and he’s on the floor scrubbing up the blood from the other night. He’s tense and angry and it’s not making him feel any better. 

He takes a swig from the bottle beside him and just sits beside the mess. He’s almost vibrating from the tension running through him. He puts his head in his hands and breathes out, low and slow. He reaches in his pocket for another cigarette but he’s already on the last one. 

He stands up slowly, looking around his apartment with it’s blood on the floor and it’s emptiness and he grabs his jacket and his keys and he slams the door behind him. 

The guy at the store eyed him suspiciously but didn’t say anything when he handed over the pack of cigarettes. He’s gone through a quarter of the pack by the time he gets to her house. It’s eerily silent and still. 

He’d pushed her too far, he didn’t mean to but he had. He knew she wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t ready for this but he’d pushed her anyway. So what if she didn’t want to tell her son right away, it’s not like they’d really figured out what was going on. A couple sleepovers didn’t really make a relationship, did it? 

But he’d pushed and he’d sent her right out the door. 

He takes another swig from the bottle and leans against the car. He has no idea what he’s doing there, no idea what his plan is but he’s there. He throws the bottle across her yard and listens to it smash against the pavement. He throws his cigarette on the ground and he storms into her house. He’s ready to apologize, maybe, or beg, or something. He just can’t stand the idea that he’d driven her away. 

He finds her asleep in the bed. Her eyes are red and swollen and she’s wrapped up in his sweater. Anything he could have said dies on his lips right there and he reaches out and tenderly brushes a stray hair from her face. She doesn’t stir. 

He quietly slips out of the room and back down towards his car. He shouldn’t have come here. 

**Sarah**

She slept through to the next morning. She wakes to the shrill ring of her phone and a pounding headache. She stumbles into the hallway and finds her phone on the floor next to a pile of clothes. She flips it open, “Holder?” she asks before she can stop herself. 

“It’s me, Mom,” she can head her son roll his eyes, “I’m getting on the plane, okay? I’ll be there in four hours.”

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, “love you.”

“Loveyoutoobye,” he says quickly, hanging up the phone. 

She checks her missed calls and tries to swallow her disappointment when there are none. She looks around the hallway for a moment before she reaches out and gathers up the clothes on the floor and heads downstairs to the laundry room. 

She spends the next three hours cleaning up the house. She changes the sheets in the spare room, she washes out the coffee maker. She makes a list of things to pick up for the weekend. She leaves earlier than she needs to but she’s eager to see her son, eager to have some noise in the house. 

She waits inside by the gate impatiently. It seems like forever before she sees him walking towards her. She pulls him in for a hug, which gets her a, “Mom, you’re embarrassing me!” he’s smiling though and gives her a quick squeeze. 

“How’s school?”

“It’s fine,” he says, shaking his hair out, “can I go see Dylan?” 

She laughs, “you just got here.”

“Yeah, and?” he throws his bag in the back seat and slides into the car. 

She ponders it for a moment, “after dinner,” she concedes. 

**Stephen**

It’s the middle of the afternoon and he’s still laying in his bed. He’s been replaying the last two days over and over again in his head. He's pensive and sober. He came home from her house and he tore through the apartment, throwing away all the booze. He has to be better for her, he knows he does. He has to try. He has to make her see that everything's finally going to be okay. He has to show her he can be in Jack's life, in her life. He has to show her he's what she needs. He has to try and fix this.

He can fix it, he concludes, he has to fix it. There’s too much at stake to just let go. 

He reaches for his phone and sends out a quick text before heading into the bathroom. He takes the time to shave, he looks for a clean shirt. He checks his phone and smiles to himself before he ducks out the door. 

**Sarah**

“What do you want for dinner?” she looks over at Jack beside her on the couch. 

He shrugs and looks down at his phone, “I dunno.” 

She gets up and goes into the kitchen. She’s leaning in the fridge when she hears a knock at the door. “I got it,” Jack says, walking past her as she spins around. 

Holder walks in carrying a pizza, “hey, little man,” he reaches out and ruffles Jack’s hair affectionately. 

“Aw, sweet! Pizza! Hey, Holder,” Jack takes the box out of his hands and heads back into the living room. 

She’s staring at Holder as she calls out, “use a plate,” after her son. Holder walks into the kitchen slowly and sits down at the table, “what are you doing here?”

He shrugs his jacket off and leans back comfortably, “I’ma lay this out for you,” he starts, gesturing for her to sit down.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Stephen**

She’s sitting across from him, staring at the wall. Her shoulders are tense but she isn’t saying anything. “I’m sorry,” he says. He’s not usually one for apologies but he knows this one is necessary, “I went too far.” 

She shrugs. 

“This isn’t just a fling,” he goes for broke, “and I don’t want it to be. Your whole life has been temporary. Temporary homes, temporary lovers. You live your life like it’s supposed to be temporary. Like you don’t believe it ever could have something permanent. You’re always ready to run, Sarah. Every relationship you been in you’ve been half out the door from the start. You’ll never see what this could be if you don’t stop runnin’.” 

He reaches across the table and puts his hand on her arm, “I meant what I said, Sarah,” he says softly. 

She’s still looking anywhere but at him. She grabs a pack of cigarettes and lights one before handing the pack to him. He leans back in his chair and he waits. He’s not patient and he can feel his leg starting to shake but he’s trying, he’s hoping. 

“Can I go to Dylan’s now?” Jack says from the doorway. 

Sarah’s head snaps up and she forces a smile, “yeah, sure.” 

“I’ll take him,” Holder says, “you need a minute?” 

She visibly hesitates before she nods. She reaches out for her son and gives him a quick hug, “I’ll pick you up at 11.” 

“Mom,” Jack rolls his eyes, “that’s so early. Dad lets me stay out until 1!” 

“Midnight,” she concedes. 

“Fine,” Jack says, “midnight. Text me when you get there. Don’t come in. C’mon, Holder.” 

Holder winks at Sarah before he follows Jack out of the house. The car ride passes mostly in silence until Jack turns to him and says, “you’re dating my mom?” 

He pauses for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. He glances at the not-so-little littlest Linden in the passenger seat, “tryin’ to,” he says honestly. 

Much like his mother, Jack sits back and processes before he says, “cool.” 

The rest of the drive is quiet, the only conversation being Jack’s directions. They pull up in front of a small, blue house and Jack says, “thanks, Holder,” before he climbs out. He starts to shut the door before he stops and leans in, “take care of my mom, okay?”

“I will, little man,” he smiles. 

“I’m glad she’s not alone,” Jack says awkwardly before slamming the door.

A sense of pride washes over Holder as he watches Jack walk away from him. He waits until he sees the boy go inside before he puts the car in drive and heads back. 

**Sarah**

She walks into the living room and slumps down in the couch, reaching for a piece of pizza. She picks at it, trying to process what he had said. He’d been right, of course, he was always right when it comes to her. What was it he had said the day they executed Ray? _We never stay, and in the end, we lose everyone._

She sighs and puts the pizza down. She reaches for a cigarette and she walks outside. It’s not fair, really, how well he knows her. How well he understands her. _You’ve always been a runner._ She sighs and sits down on the steps. 

The sun is low on the horizon and it’s giving the world an orange glow. She looks over at the forest with it’s impossibly tall pines and it’s broken pathways. Waiting for her. The only thing in her life that’s ever brought her peace is running. 

She’s standing beside her car when he pulls up. She throws her cigarette butt on the ground and says, “follow me,” she doesn’t turn to see if he does, she just starts walking into the trees. 

She can hear him jog to catch up with her, “where we goin’?” he asks. 

She doesn’t answer, not right away, just guides him through the maze of trees expertly. She loves the earthly smells and the bright colors of the forest. She has to slow down to make sure he can keep up. He’s breathing heavy but he doesn’t complain. 

She ducks under a low hanging branch and stops in the middle of a small meadow. She’d found it a few months after moving into the house. She turns back to look at him. He’s watching her intently, as he slips under the branch and leans against the tree, “you cold?’ he asks. 

She hadn’t realized she was shivering. The forest is always cool but it borders on freezing cold once the sun goes down. Even though she shakes her head he shrugs his jacket off and wraps it around her shoulders. He walks around, occasionally stopping to peer through the trees, “spooky,” he says, turning to smile at her. 

“Holder,” she starts. She’s quiet though, and he doesn’t hear her. 

“This your secret hiding place, Linden?” he laughs and continues looking around. 

She swallows the lump in her throat and tries again, “Stephen,” she says, a little more forcefully. 

**Stephen**

He snaps around when she says his name. She’s standing in front of him, wrapped in his jacket, looking straight at him, “you’re right “ she says, “I’ve been running away my whole life,” she looks down and scuffs her shoe.

He takes a step towards her. She holds up her hand and he stops. He puts his hands in his pockets and waits for her to continue, “you were wrong too, though,” she looks back up and she meets his eyes, “I was never running away from you. I was running home,” she closes the gap between them, “I was running to you. I never thought this was temporary.”

She reaches up and puts her hand on his cheek. She opens her mouth to say something but he stops her. He leans down and he kisses her, hard. He slides his arm around her waist and pulls her in close. He reaches up with his free hand and pulls her hair out, letting it fall down her shoulders. He pulls back just enough to get both his hands in it.

He can feel the cool air whipping around them. There’s a crack of lightning followed quickly by the low rumble of thunder. He pulls the jacket tightly around her shoulders, “we better get goin’,” he wraps his arm around her shoulders and lets her guide them back. 

**Sarah**

He’s shivering by the time they reach the porch. She’d tried to give him his jacket back but he shook his head. She turns around at the clap of thunder in time to watch the storm start. The rain comes down in a sheet, soaking them almost instantly. She grabs his hand and pulls him up the stairs and into the house. 

She hangs his jacket on the back of a chair and turns around to watch Holder - Stephen, she corrects herself - unbutton his shirt. There’s water running out of his hair and down his face. She reaches out and slowly pushes his shirt down his arms. She leans in and kisses the cold skin on his collar bone.

“You’re freezing,” she whispers as he reaches along the hem of her sweater and starts to pull it up over her head. He strips off his undershirt and backs her up against the wall in the kitchen. He’s kissing her neck and running his fingers along the waistband of her wet jeans.

“You can warm me up,” he growls in her ear. 

He slips the button on her jeans open when her cellphone lets out a piercing ring. He slams his hand against the wall as she ducks under his arm to answer her phone, “Linden,” she chokes out breathlessly.

“Hey, Mom,” Jack says, oblivious, “can I crash at Dylan’s? Please? I haven’t seen him in months.” 

She blinks for a second before she answers, “you’re going home the day after tomorrow...” 

“I know,” he says, “we can do something tomorrow I promise. Please?” 

She feels Holder's hand slide across her bare stomach and he starts kissing down her neck. She swallows loudly before she says, “I’ll pick you up in the morning.” 

“You’re the best,” Jack declares, “loveyoubye.” 

“And then there were two,” Holder whispers in her ear, he reaches around and picks her up, heading for the stairs.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Stephen**

The next six months pass in a blur and before they know it they’ve established a routine. They haven’t really discussed it but he’s considering giving up his apartment. He only stops by there to pick up clothing a couple of times a week. It’s an unseasonably warm Monday morning and he’s laying in her bed waiting for her to return from her run. He stretches out lazily, reaching for his boxers. He shrugs on his jeans and an undershirt and heads down into the kitchen. 

He’s leaning against the sink with a glass of water when she walks in, “mornin’, baby,” he says, walking over.

“Morning,” she replies, wrapping her arms around his waist. He slides his along her shoulder, pulling her in and kissing her on the top of the head. 

“Better today?” he asks, stroking her hair. 

She smiles, “a bit. I still had to take it easy.” She pulls back, “I better go shower,” she says. He watches as she climbs the stairs quickly, silently thanking whoever invented running leggings. He debates following her, but decides against it knowing they would both be late. 

He waits for her on the porch. He’s leaning against the railing, smoking, when she comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. He can feel her press her head to the middle of his back. He inhales deeply and turns around, grabbing her face and pulling her in for a quick, passionate kiss. 

“We better get goin’,” he says, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Mmm,” she kisses him again, “you drive.” 

She climbs into the passenger seat of his car and flips open the Walker case. The DA had requested that she’d be a witness at the trial. He glances over at her, her brow furrowed as she read, “walk me through it,” he says.

“You called me, saying we had a case,” she looks out the window, “I met you at the house, we investigated the scene where we found Valerie Walker tied to the bed. She was dead,” she continues on, step by step through the case. He listens patiently, correcting her and adding information.

“You hungry?” he asks as they navigate the city.

She grimaces, “definitely not.” 

“You should eat,” he reaches over and puts his hand on her knee affectionately.

“I have a meeting with the DA,” she changes the subject as they pull up to the precinct, “and my follow-up at the doctor’s after.” 

He tosses her the keys and walks around the car. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and guides her inside, “see ya later, baby,” he kisses her quickly on the head and ducks into their office. 

**Sarah**

The meeting with the DA passes slowly. She’s antsy and impatient. She likes the DA about as much as she likes lawyers. Maybe even less. They go over her testimony three times before the DA is satisfied enough to let her go, insisting she comes back after her appointment so she can meet with the lawyer in charge of the case. 

She’d been sick for weeks, certain that it was due to the long hours and stressful job. Stephen had suggested she make a doctor’s appointment when she’d started cutting her runs short. Heartburn, she’d told him but he’d insisted. 

“You’re a little older than we’d like for this,” the doctor smiles patiently, “but you’re managing well. You’re in great shape, I think it will be fine. I can give you something for the heartburn. How is your energy level?”

Sarah tugs uncomfortably at the gown, “it’s okay. I have to pace myself a little more on my runs.” 

The doctor nods, “what do you do for work?”

“I’m a homicide detective,” she wishes momentarily Stephen could be there with her. 

“How’s your sleep? How many hours to do you get a night?”

“Uhm, around 6 I would guess,” she shrugs, “some days are better than others.” 

The doctor looks up from her clipboard, “I’d like you to try for closer to 8-10 hours of sleep and quit smoking,” she hands over a prescription and a pamphlet, “I’m going to send you for some more tests, I’d like to run some more specific blood work to start with,” she continues to list off all the rest of the tests she recommends, “you’re healthy, everything looks healthy. It wouldn’t kill you to gain some weight and get some sleep. You can book your follow up with the receptionist.” 

She stops on her way back and picks up her prescription. She heads into the coffee shop next to the pharmacy and orders herself a coffee and a muffin, which she chokes down, before she slides into the front seat of Holder’s car and lights a cigarette. The first drag makes her gag and she has to throw it out the window on her way back.

She jogs down the hallway at the precinct to their office, “hey,” she says.

“How’d it go, baby?” he stops spinning in his chair and smiles at her.

“Good. I have to go back to the DA,” she puts the keys down on the desk and kisses him hard, “I’ll tell you about it later.”

He snatches up the keys, “I’ll grab some lunch,” he follows her out of the room, “pizza ok?”

“Can you go to that place downtown? I want the olive and mushroom one.” 

“That sounds disgusting,” he laughs. 

She turns to head towards the room she knows the lawyer is holed up in, waiting for her, “love you,” she smiles. 

“Love you too, baby.”

**Stephen**

“That pineapple better be cold,” he says to the guy through the window, “and one olive and mushroom.”

He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He leans against the wall watching the people walk by him. It’s a bittersweet place for him, the street where he’d met Bullet. He hopes, for a moment, that in his way he’s done right by her, that she would have been proud of who he’d become. 

“It’s ready,” the guy says from beside him, passing him two small boxes. He pulls a couple of bills out of his pocket and slides them under the window. 

He’s walking towards his car when he sees a girl watching him intently. She’s leaning against a light pole, eyeing him, “like what you see?” he reaches in his pocket for his keys. 

“I know you,” she says, defiantly, “you’re that cop that got Bullet killed.” 

“What?” he drops the attitude, and the pizza, and blinks. The smile falls from his face and he just stares at her. 

The girl pushes off the light pole, “you ain’t welcome here, five-oh. You’ve done enough.” 

**Sarah**

The office is empty when she gets back to it. She flips open her phone to see if she’s missed any calls but there is nothing. She walks over to her desk and looks around , shuffling papers to see if he’s left a note.

“Trouble in paradise, Detective?” She glances up, surprised to see Dale Walker standing at the doorway. He smirks and walks away. 

She runs to the door and watches him for a moment before she takes off to their boss’s office, “what’s going on?” she asks, shutting the door behind her.

“DA’s dropping the charges,” he’s leaning back in his seat. 

“What do you mean? I was just in with the lawyer. I met with the DA this morning.” 

He shrugs, “guess that’s what happens when you have a good lawyer. They called twenty minutes ago. You’re off the hook for the trial.” 

"They processed him out quickly," she clenches her fists, obviously tense, “You call that justice?” 

“It’s not up to me. I have to get back to work, Detective. I suggest you do the same,” he spins the chair back and forth. 

She storms towards the door, stopping before she opens it, “have you seen Holder?”

“Not since lunch.” 

She heads back to her office and snaps open her phone. It rings a few times before going to voicemail, “hey, it’s me. Where are you? Call me back,” she sits down in her chair and flips through the pamphlet from the doctor.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

 _and I'd do anything to make you stay_  
 _no light, no light_  
 _no light_  
 _tell me what you want me to say_  
Florence + the Machine - No Light, No Light

**Stephen**

He hears the door fly open. The hall light bursts into the room, momentarily blinding him. He’s sitting on the couch, chain smoking and shirtless, “shut the door,” he reaches for the bottle in front of him and takes a swig.

“That’s all you have to say?” she slams the door and he winces. 

“I’d tell you to leave but you wouldn’t,” he holds up a cigarette, momentarily surprised when she refuses it, before he slips it between his lips and lights it, “you don’t listen, Linden.”

She stands across from him with her arms folded, “where were you? I waited for you for hours. You went to get lunch and never came back.” 

He takes a long drag and exhales it slowly. He looks up at her, standing over him. Her face is a mix of anger and concern and exhaustion, “you can’t count on me,” he blinks, reaching for the bottle, “about time you figured it out,” he polishes off the beer, “I’ll always let you down.” 

“What are you talking about?” she takes a step towards him. 

He flinches and she stops, “you should go,” he says. He doesn’t deserve her comfort, her love. He can see the tears forming in her eyes and he feels dirty. She should have known though, what to expect from him. People always know what to expect from him, why should she be any different? 

“Stephen -” she reaches out for him. She notices something familiar on the coffee table, “is this about Bullet?” she asks, gesturing at the necklace. She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “you know that wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t.”

He pushes her off harder than he intended to and she falls back, hitting her head on the wall. He jumps to his feet and rushes over to her, trying to gather her up, “I’m sorry, baby.” 

She shrugs him off and struggles to her feet, her hand on her head, “what is going on?”

“You need to go,” he shakes his head, “this was a mistake. This was all a mistake.” 

**Sarah**

“All?” she hates how her voice squeaks when she says it. 

“This was all a mistake,” he shouts, punching the wall, “I’m not your boyfriend, I’m not your friend. I don’t need you. I don’t want you here. Get out of my apartment.” 

She visibly flinches at the sound. She can see the dent where he hit the wall and the blood on his hand. She can feel the bile rising in her throat and tears stinging her eyes. She’s doing everything she can to keep from screaming, to keep from crying and tearing into him. She reaches in her pocket for the pamphlet from the doctor and she holds it out, her hand shaking. 

He shakes his head and walks into the kitchen, pulling another bottle out of the fridge.. 

“Take it,” she says, her voice quivering, “take it.” 

He pushes past her without so much as a glance in her direction. He slumps down on the couch and reaches for his cigarette.

She stands there, arm wavering, for a full minute. She chokes back a sob, throws the pamphlet on the table and storms out of the apartment. She holds it together until she reaches the stairwell. She lets the door shut behind her and she sinks to her knees. She’s confused, she’s tired and she’s lost.

Her head is throbbing where it made contact with the wall and her throat is raw and dry. She’s sniveling and sitting on the floor in the dirty stairway. She brushes her hair out of her face and she forces herself to stand up. 

It’s going to be okay, she tells herself. Something obviously happened, and he just needs some space. She jogs down the steps two at a time. She skips the warm-up, hitting the pavement at a full on run. It’s going to be okay.

**Stephen**

He’s disoriented when he wakes up. It takes him a moment to realize where he is. It’s been so long since he’d slept in his own apartment he barely recognizes his things. He takes a slip of the flat beer on the coffee table and grimaces. He’s barely able to drag himself to the bathroom before he starts throwing up. He collapses next to the bathtub and closes his eyes. 

It’s the next day before he wakes again. He drags himself into a sitting position. The first thing he notices is the awful taste in his mouth, which is nothing compared to the awful feeling in his head. He reaches out to brace himself against the side of the tub and stand up but he cries out. He doesn’t remember hurting his hand but it’s swollen and purple. He flexes it tenderly, debating whether or not he thinks it’s broken. 

_you’re the cop that got Bullet killed._

He leans over the toilet and retches again. He gingerly pulls himself up into a standing position. He looks like hell. He’s covered in his own vomit, his hair is a mess. There’s blood and beer on his shirt. He pulls it over his head and throws it straight in the trash. 

_He can hear his phone ringing in the living room but he ignores it, stepping into the tub. He has to sit on the floor for the first little while but the shower is comforting. He takes extra care scrubbing away the grime and the guilt. He stands in the shower until the water runs cold._

_He shrugs on a pair of jeans and reaches for cigarette before he stumbles into the living room. It’s a mess, bottles everywhere. His phone is still ringing, somewhere, and it’s doing nothing to quiet his raging headache. He grabs a box from the kitchen and sweeps the empty bottles off of the table into it. He takes them straight down to the garbage before he comes back up and starts straightening the pillows. He reaches out and picks up Bullet's necklace before he sits down on the couch, feeling the weight of it in his hand._

_He glances up from the couch and notices the hole in the wall. Explains his hand, more or less. He walks over to it and cocks his head to the right. The night comes back to him in a blur. He’d come straight home after that girl had spoken to him. He’d been drunk by the time Linden showed up and he’d made an ass out of himself. He curls his hand, forcing himself to feel the pain before he grabs a black sweater out of the closet and storms out of the apartment._

_How could he have let it get that bad? It’s been almost two years since they’d lost Bullet and sure, it was hard, it was a struggle, but he’d been doing okay. He’d been normal. They’d fallen into a routine and it had worked for them. And some street kid comes along, runnin’ her mouth, and he’d let everything fall apart._

_All he could do now is hope he wasn’t too late._

_Her house is dark when he pulls up. He barely shuts the car off before he takes off inside. He checks the bedroom, the kitchen, the living room. He checks the back yard and the bathroom. The house is empty and all too quiet. He calls out her name, over and over again, pleading for a response. He’s standing in the bedroom looking out the windows when he sees the forest. Maybe she’s out running?_

_He takes off for the trees, cursing himself for smoking and always turning her down when she asked him to come with her. He’s out of shape and breathing heavy. He pushes through the trees, pleading for some sort of sign, something to lead him in the right direction._

_He makes it to the meadow where she’d told him she loved him the first time and he falls to his knees. He’s tired, his head is killing him and his hand is really starting to hurt. He deserves this, of course, this is all his fault._

_He walks back to his car slowly, his head hung in shame. He walks past her car when he realizes, she probably couldn’t have come home. Unless she’d taken a cab. Maybe she went to one of those motels she’d frequented with Jack? He reaches in his pocket for his phone only to find it’s empty. He curses himself for leaving it at home._

_He speeds into the city going ten over the limit and he flies into the apartment like a man on fire. He tears through the kitchen and the living room searching for his phone. Something that had been making so much noise earlier was eerily silent now._

_He flips the cushions on the couch, he pulls the blanket and moves the chair. He all but throws the coffee table across the room. He’s standing in his kitchen, vibrating with frustration when he hears it go off again. He’s crawling on the carpet when he spots it under the couch._

_He pulls it out and flips it open, his boss. He ignores the call and starts to go through his missed calls. Seventeen and not one from Sarah. He knew he’d upset her, but so much that she wouldn’t even tell him where she was going?_

_The ring starts again, his boss again. He flips the phone open, “Holder,” he grunts, falling back on his heels. A piece of paper under the couch catches his eye and he reaches out for it._

_“Where the fuck have you been?” his boss is storming._

_He rolls his eyes and flips the paper over, it’s the pamphlet Sarah’d tried to give him, “busy,” he mumbles turning the pamphlet over and over, his eyes wide with surprise, “you know where Linden’s at?”_

_“Do I know where Linden’s at? Are you fucking serious, Holder?” he can hear his boss pacing._

_He’s reaching for his keys and flying down towards the car, “look, can we deal with this later? I gotta talk to Linden.”_

_“You’re in serious trouble, I’d hurry if I were you,” his boss says, his voice dangerously cool as he spills off directions._


	10. Chapter Ten

_no light, no light in your bright blue eyes_  
 _I never knew daylight could be so violent_  
 _a revelation in the light of day_  
 _you can't choose what stays and what fades away_  
Florence + the Machine - No Light, No Light

**Stephen**

He storms into the hospital and pushes past the line of people until he gets to the nurse, “I need to see Sarah Linden,” he says. 

“Back of the line, sir” she barely glances at him. 

He reaches in his pocket and whips out his badge, momentarily grateful for the way it silences everyone around him, “Detective,” he corrects her, “I need to see Sarah Linden.” 

She smiles at him, “oh, of course, Detective. Just a moment.” 

“A moment?” he slams his hands down on the counter, “not a moment. Now.” 

She has another nurse take him through the maze of hospital hallways and rooms. The smell of bleach is turning to acid in his empty stomach, making him gag. She takes him up three flights of stairs, telling him about how taking the stairs is supposed to make you healthy. She talks the whole way, cheerfully, and it’s driving him insane. 

“He’s looking for Sarah something,” she says as they approach another desk, she smiles at him before she turns around and heads back down the hallway.

“Sarah Linden,” he eyes the nurse behind the desk, “Detective Sarah Linden. I’m her, uh, partner.” 

The nurse points, “she was down the hall, 4411-B. But they were taking her back to surgery about half an hour ago. You’re welcome to wait in her room.”

“Okay,” he says, turning towards the room before he glances back, “what happened?” 

The nurse reaches for a clipboard, flipping through it, “she was hit by a car. She was running across one of the bridges downtown and a car lost control. It crashed into the cement barrier and hit her on the side,” the nurse smiles sympathetically, "it was an accident."

“She’s going to be okay, right?” he asks, his voice small. 

“I can’t release anything else unless you are family,” she reaches out and pats his arm, “but you are welcome to wait in her room.” 

He picks a pen up from the desk and spins it in his fingers, “I’m her, uh. I’m her boyfriend,” he says nervously, “can’t you tell me anything?” 

“You’re the father?” the nurse reaches for another chart, “I can tell you about the baby.” 

“She’s pregnant?” he blinks, reaching into his pocket for the pamphlet. The words, ‘pregnancy after 35’ stare back at him. 

“Was,” the nurse says, “the first surgery they had they delivered the baby. It was in distress after the accident, it’s amazing it survived at all.”

“Survived?” he blinks, his throat is dry and he’s looking around.

“Twenty four weeks. Six months. A healthy baby delivered at twenty four weeks has a 50% chance of survival, after the accident, it’s hard to say. She’s alive, though, would you like to see her?” the nurse smiles at him patiently. 

“Her?” he can feel the room starting to spin. 

The nurse comes around the the desk and guides him towards Sarah’s room, “you have a daughter, Detective Holder.”

He slides into the seat while she goes into the bathroom. She returns with a glass of water and hands it to him, “a daughter,” he croaks, “I didn’t even know she was pregnant. She didn’t look pregnant.”

The nurse sits on the bed, “we spoke with her OB when she arrived, they’d just found out yesterday.” 

“She’d been sick,” he takes another sip of his water, “throwin’ up and heartburn.”

“That’s normal,” the nurse smiles, “when you are ready I can take you to meet her.” 

“I’d better wait for Sarah,” he leans back, “I’m not exactly what you would call father material.” 

The nurse reaches out again and touches him lightly on the arm, “you’re here, aren’t you?” she glances over her shoulder, “I have to get back to the desk. I’ll tell the doctor you’re in here when they get out of surgery.” 

He waits impatiently, pacing around the room, for six long hours before the doctor shows up at the door. He’s an older man, he looks tired and stressed. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why he looks so distraught, “I’m sorry,” he says, “we did everything we could.” 

Holder falls back into his chair, tears streaming down his face. He struggles to his feet, and somehow remembers how to place them, one foot in front of the other. 

“Where are you going?” the nurse calls after him, “your daughter,” she says. 

“My daughter is better off without me,” he whispers. 

He collapses onto a bench outside of the hospital, his head in his hands. He’s sobbing, loudly, not that he cares, when he feels someone sit beside him, “I should have known you’d be here,” Reggie says, handing him a cigarette.

“Been here all day,” he whispers, lighting it and leaning back. 

She nods, “I know. The nurse told me. I was out of town, you know. It took me awhile to get back.” 

“They called you?”

“I’m still listed as her next of kin,” Reggie shrugs, tapping her cigarette.

They sit, side by side in silence for a moment before he says, “I promised I would take care of her.”

Reggie ponders this, “you did take care of her,” she says definitively, “but it’s not over yet,” she points towards the hospital, “there’s a baby in there, struggling for her life.” 

“I’m not a father,” he looks down at his hands, “I never even had one. My sister, Liz, was the closest thing I ever had to a parent. I was raised by the fine streets of Seattle.” 

“Sarah was raised by the system,” she reminds him, “you really think that’s what she’d want for her daughter?” 

“That baby isn’t going to make it,” he throws his cigarette on the ground, “50% chance or some shit.” 

Reggie turns to him, “no one should die alone,” she says, reaching for her things, “I’ll see you around, Stephen.” 

They said that Sarah’s death had been painless, she’d been knocked unconscious upon impact and that she hadn’t felt anything. It’s funny to think of death as painless. There’s an ache in his chest he’s sure won’t ever go away. This dull throb just beneath his ribs. 

He uses his badge and his attitude to get down into the morgue. He doesn’t lift the sheet, he can’t bare to see her, torn apart and sewn back together. He kicks a cabinet hard enough to dent the door. 

“How could you do this?” he asks to no one in particular. He looks up at the ceiling, “how could you take her away from me?”

He slips his hand under the sheet and grabs onto hers. It’s stiff and cold, it doesn’t curl back around his. He’s crying again, thick fat tears rolling down his cheeks, “how could you leave me with this?” he asks her, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I don’t know how to be a father,” he tells her, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what formula to buy or how to change a diaper,” he laughs at himself, “I don’t know what to do if she gets sick or if she gets hurt.”

He sits down in a chair, resting his head on his arms beside her, “I’m sorry I let everything get all mixed up, I’m sorry I made you leave. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what happened, I should have turned to you. You always been there and I was tryin’ so hard to be strong for you and look where it got us. I thought you were better off without me, and maybe you were. But I’m not better off without you. I never been reliable, Linden. I don’t know how to be. I need you. I need you so goddamn much. 

“You’re my ride, Sarah,” he wipes face with his sleeve, “how am I supposed to get anywhere?”

He won’t remember walking back to the main floor of the hospital after, or making his way to the nurse on the fourth floor. He won’t remember the long walk to the NICU or the gown they make him put on. He won’t remember the other babies, the other parents, in the room. 

He’ll just remember this impossibly small baby, with it’s eyes taped shut and more tubes than he could count going in and out of her. He sits down beside her, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, “you can touch her,” the NICU nurse says, “with those gloves attached to the incubator.”

He shakes his head, still staring at the baby. 

“You should talk to her,” the nurse says, “sometimes it helps.” 

“What would I say?” he asks seriously. 

“Anything you want,” she shrugs, “you could start by giving her a name,” she looks around before she heads over to the door, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. If you need anything just press that button beside her incubator.” 

He looks down at his hands, “Sarah,” he says softly. The baby doesn’t acknowledge him, not that he expects her to. He watches the rise and fall of her tiny chest. He looks around before he tentatively reaches into the glove, resting a finger on her hand. It’s the slightest movement, a fraction of a second, but he’s sure she tries to curl her little fingers around it.


End file.
